


Kaleidoscope: A Heathers: The Musical One-shot

by dolcewrites



Category: Heathers: The Musical - Murphy & O'Keefe
Genre: Angst, Art, Chandler/McNamara if you squint, Drabble, Drawing, Gen, Mainly Canon, YOUR FAVOURITE
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-12
Updated: 2018-04-12
Packaged: 2019-04-21 23:46:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,229
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14296077
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dolcewrites/pseuds/dolcewrites
Summary: The first time Heather McNamara drew in front of her Chandler counterpart was been a little awkward.





	Kaleidoscope: A Heathers: The Musical One-shot

**Author's Note:**

  * For [oceangraves](https://archiveofourown.org/users/oceangraves/gifts).



> Birthday gift for my gorgeous friend who got me in the Heathers fandom! I'm so sorry this was like a month late lmao

Art was a hidden pleasure of hers. Not that she would call it guilty, no, art wasn’t a sin, but it was something that clashed with the Westerberg McNamera so much that she had to confine it to her house. Not even in a quaint little cafe near her house. Just her room, her tablet, some references and her imagination.

 

So you could imagine her surprise when Chandler busted into her room in the middle of the night. “Heather, have you seen my Jimmy Choos? I swear I left them in here —“

 

She was a frazzled Heather McNamara, her hair flying in untamed wisps, thick-framed glasses sitting on the bridge of her nose, in sweatpants — sweatpants! And a merchandise shirt from one of her favourite anime. The most humiliating was that she was absolutely without makeup, save for some foundation, she had absolutely no makeup on. A flush crawled its way up her body, wondering what Victoria’s Secret-clad Heather Chandler would say about her night routine.

 

“What is this?” She paused in her tracks, casting her a glance which she didn’t dare look at. Her mattress dipped slightly as Heather sat onto it, and lay down next to her, peering at her tablet. “Are you drawing?”

 

Drawing! For all the imperfections in her composure, her waist trainer shovelled into her closet next to her yellow uniform, her posture slumped, looking nerdier than the math team combined — and Heather chose to focus on her tablet?

 

“Y-yeah,” she said, tilting the screen a little so that Heather could see what she was working on. She took it from her hands and began zooming into the artwork, a look of pure piercing focus in her eyes. The intensity almost scared the timid McNamera a little, wondering how Heather was judging her colour choice, her grasp of anatomy —

 

“Oh, actually I’m not finished with it yet,” she said, forcing nonchalance in her voice, peering over Heather’s shoulder to see what she was looking at.

 

Heather suddenly sat up, slapping the anxious artist with her ponytail. “No, this is good,” she said, handing the tablet back. “But really? Monochrome? Can you be more boring than that, Heather?”

 

“All my works are monochromatic,” Heather explained defensively. “It’s just my art style, okay? Don’t judge me for that. Besides, I use at least 50 different shades of grey. Heather Duke has fewer colours on her makeup palette.”

 

“Yeah, no, I’m totally judging this. Why would you pick blacks and whites when you have colours? An entire wheel of endless possibilities?” Heather reached over and chose the colour wheel with a manicured finger. “What is this again? A canary?”

 

Heather nodded, suddenly interested in Heather Chandler’s interest. She had never seen her this motivated for anything, or remotely passionate about anything with pigment, save for makeup.

 

“So, you want a yellow here — no, you dumbass tablet, no one wants such a bright yellow —“ Expertly, she picked out a couple shades from muddy yellow to soft pastels, sampling them in a new layer, before taking Heather’s pen and splashing colour over the gray bird.

 

“And of course, complimenting colours,” she declared, picking out blues and purples and colours that were anything but compliments, to McNamara's knowledge. But then again, Heather Chandler was proving herself to be the expert artist here, and she only watched, intrigued, as she breathed life into the bird with every new stroke she made with the pen.

 

“See here, we put blue and the wing just pops. Isn’t it gorgeous?”

 

“Heather, this is… pop-artsy. I try to stick to realism as much as I can.”

 

“Realism can come in those fancy photos from nature reserves, Heather. But life is never just about shades or lighting. Sometimes, you put something completely different in it, and it’s a kaleidoscope. We would be made colourblind if colours weren’t made to enjoy. But in yellow there is blue, and in blue there is red, and so on. It’s never as simple as one colour or one shade. It’s different colours complimenting each other. That’s a kaleidoscope. That is art.”

 

“Oh, there my Choos are. I’ll see you tomorrow, honey!” It seemed as if something had switched off, bringing Heather Chandler to the mythic goddess the world knew, instead of the artistic angel with an eye for the world. Shrugging, McNamara waved her goodbye before settling down to look at the artwork Heather had messed around on.

 

She never saw colours the same again. Everything, the canary outside her house, the cheerleading outfit hanging from her door, the yelling of fighting jocks, everything, was a kaleidoscope, an array of rainbows even within one single frame of activity.

 

For the first time, Heather McNamara dared to capture colour. Bolding splashing colours that didn’t mix, just having at it as soon as the colours came. Blue with gold, for instance. And red, passionate, sweet red, always with delicate yellow, and together, they blossomed. 

 

For the first time, Heather McNamara decided to submit her artwork to the state competition. She never heard back from them again, but it was at least worth the shot.

 

***

 

“Really, Heather? An anime shirt for PJs? What are you, a hobo? You’d expect better than this for a Heather sleepover.”

 

Heather Duke entered her room in a fluffy bathrobe, holding some sort of cleansing juice in a hand, the other pointing at her shirt in disgust.

 

“It’s comfortable,” she protested, pushing her glasses up her nose, hands on her tablet.

 

“Please! Make good use of your dad’s money and get yourself some lingerie. And what the hell is this?”

 

“It’s a drawing,” she explained insecurely, reaching to switch off the tablet. “Let me see,” Duke slapped her hand away, yanking the tablet from her. “What the hell, are you colourblind? Silver does not go with neon pink.”

 

“But —“ Heather tried to explain patiently, only to deaf ears and a judging glance.

 

“Who taught you to draw, Heather? Your pet goldfish?”

 

“Heather Chandler,” she said with a quick burst of triumph.

 

“Her? Hah! No wonder. What a laughing stock.” Heather Duke examined herself in a mirror, moving a hand to adjust her chest. “Ugh, what did they even inject into these?”

 

“She was our friend, Heather!”

 

“So what? She’s dead. She and her clique of freaks can go home and die. I’m in charge now, and what doesn’t go together doesn’t. You either match, or you’re out. Got it?”

 

Nodding resignedly, she switched off her tablet and pulled out her phone. "Should we prank call someone?" "Oooh, yes. Dial me up to that lesbian freak." Heather squirmed over, taking the phone in newfound excitement.

 

_She’s dead._

  

It haunted Heather McNamara like no other. The one girl who taught her to see the world, the light which had shone in her life. For so long, Heather Chandler had given her the gift of artistic liberty, to take her flight on those freeing butterfly wings — they were everything. Heather kept all of these treasures, only to find that, in a world without Heather Chandler, they weren't treasures anymore. And if she didn't -- couldn't -- adapt and move on, she wouldn't be the most popular girl in school either. Just another freak trying to imitate the popular people. What Heather Chandler taught her, gave her, they were so much -- and nothing. 

 

Heather McNamara's kaleidoscope shattered — and the world was monotone once more.


End file.
